A Long Road Home
by Vernan
Summary: A collection of scenes as Ezra and the crew acclimate to each other. Not a lot of action, mostly the quiet moments in between.
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes, lying in his bunk in the dark of night, he swore he could remember their faces: her nose, his strong brow, both of their easy, warm smiles. Then the memory would slip away and he would see instead the faces of his crew or any number of his contacts on the streets. Like some insubstantial phantom, the more he grasped for it, the more it seemed to elude him. It galled him to be incapable of this simple act and he often wondered if it was some personal failure on his part that he could not recall something as important as the faces of his own parents.

* * *

For the first few days, he silently observed the crew, coming to several realizations: they trusted each other a hell of a lot and they had little regard for personal space.

Playful shoves in the halls and jokes in the small common area were commonplace, as were requests to cover each other's shifts or to borrow equipment. While the privacy of bedrooms were fiercely protected and universally respected, the crew was so much more open with each other than any other he had come across, reminding him uncomfortably of a family rather than a business partnership.

That they showed so much to each other shocked and confused him. On the streets, he had always associated such actions with weakness: you held your personal life close to your chest and you kept your problems to yourself. Everyone knew that and everyone respected those unspoken rules. And so it shocked him to see these fierce individuals, who were anything but weak, sharing and living so comfortably together, trusting in the good will of their fellow crew mates. While nobody was throwing out personal information and much was still hidden, the crew members would still let certain details slip, without fear that the others would use it against them. They even occasionally _comforted_ each other.

Of course, he rebuffed all such endeavors to extend this courtesy to himself, though these efforts were few in number and almost exclusively made by the Twi'lek pilot, Hera. He was a hell of a long way from trusting any of them, especially when they almost left him on that Star Destroyer.

It could become quite uncomfortable, living without the protective barrier of mistrust that he had adapted on the streets. It was much harder to keep his feelings in check when Hera was asking him how he felt or Sabine wanted to know how he liked his eggs. Long forgotten emotions seemed to suddenly rear their head, wreaking havoc on his carefully maintained front of calm indifference.

In the face of so much change, he dug in deep and threw up his strongest shields, pushing away any attempts at friendship. It was the only course he knew.

* * *

"Sabacc!"

The proud declaration startled him from his train of thought, and he silently observed Zeb pulling a small pile of credits toward himself. Sabine was looking at the Lasat with a sour expression, her eyes narrowed with displeasure. Noticing this, Zeb showed a toothy grin.

"Guess you can't win all the time, eh?"

She smiled ruefully.

"I suppose I had to let you win sometime. Otherwise you'd never play me again."

The Lasat snorted, leaning back in his chair.

"I'm not afraid of anything. I just know when I'm being hustled."

Sabine sniffed, wiping some imaginary dust off her gloves, and then stopped as she spied Ezra leaning against the wall.

"What about you, Ezra? Want to go a round?"

He shrugged his shoulders, secretly both pleased and terrified that she was speaking to him.

"No credits."

Zeb lifted an eyebrow in mock amazement.

"What, none at all? I'd thought you'd have stolen some more by now."

If he thought that mocking Ezra's profession would make him lose control, he was mistaken. Ezra had spent the better part of seven years being trod underfoot and had heard much worse. Verbal abuse was almost expected. Now that he was on familiar ground, he felt the confidence to lean forward and quietly answer.

"I used all my credits on food. Haven't had a chance to make any more, but I am seeing some new opportunities."

The Lasat pulled his pile of credits closer, snarling menacingly at him.

"Try it, little Lothrat. Give me an excuse to space you."

Sabine rolled her eyes, as if bored of the confrontation.

"Who's going to space what now?"

The new voice was deep and warm, the vowels rolling softly in a Rim world accent. Ezra's eyes didn't leave Zeb even as Kanan entered the small common area, his boots softly tapping on the metal floor until he came to a halt in front of the sink, where he began to wash engine grease from his hands. The Lasat didn't look away either, and continued to gaze at Ezra with unconcealed enmity.

"Oh, nothing. Just clarifying some things for the kid."

Making an irritated noise, Sabine stood up abruptly and knocked on Zeb's shoulder plates as she walked by.

"Come on, big guy. We need to get started on those repairs."

Zeb gave Ezra one more look, then got up and followed the Mandalorian out. Kanan watched them leave, then looked straight at Ezra. Unnerved by the piercing stare, he looked down and crossed his arms protectively, all too aware how defensive that looked.

 _I have nothing to feel guilty about_ , he tried to convince himself.

The older man continued to stare, and then opened the food unit, pulling out some of Hera's left over soup from last night. He began to heat it over the stove top, stirring every so often with a wooden spoon. Although the silence was uncomfortable, Ezra was determined to wait it out. He would not be led or provoked into speaking first. The self-professed Jedi had nothing on him.

"Soup?"

Starting at the words, Ezra turned to look at him. There was no judgment in his eyes, no reproach. From previous experience with the man, Ezra had expected a lecture on manners or warning to not bite the hand that fed him, but it wasn't any of that. It was just an honest question.

"Okay."

Kanan nodded, grabbed a second bowl, and ladled him a generous portion. He had noticed there seemed to be some secret campaign on his and Hera's part to help him gain some weight. While he was a bit uncomfortable with what seemed an awful lot like _concern_ , the extra food was not unwelcome.

After handing him the bowl, Kanan sat at the small table and dug in. Ezra blew on the soup, not wanting to burn his tongue.

"Are you going to sit down?"

Ezra shrugged.

Kanan blinked and then turned back to his food, as if he couldn't be bothered to care where Ezra ate his food. This, more than anything else, helped set him at ease. After a few moments deliberation, Ezra crossed the room and slid into the booth, avoiding eye contact with the Jedi. They continued to eat in an almost companionable silence and for the first time since coming onboard Ezra didn't feel like he needed to be anywhere else.

* * *

Yay! My first Rebels fic! Leave a review and this writer will be endlessly grateful. Sorry if Ezra comes off more serious in this piece than he does on the show. While I love him along with all his whiny adolescent complaints, I have always felt that a kid that lived seven years on the streets would be a bit more subdued by his experiences (although I am also aware Disney had to make the content appropriate for children). This Ezra still has a mouth on him, but is more quiet and observant. Perhaps this is due to my propensity to create brooding, introspective characters with too much angst. Now that I think about it, that's probably something I should look into. Hm. Oh, and I believe that this may be one of the few times that Kanan's aversion to talking about things works out in his favor as Ezra would have reacted poorly to anything else. Hope you enjoyed!


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the crew were recuperating in the common area, drinking steaming mugs of a sweet, spicy tea they had picked up at the market a few days ago. He had quietly left them about half an hour ago, feeling Kanan's appraising eyes follow him as he walked to his room.

Zeb found him sitting on his bunk. His arms were wrapped around his legs, his eyes staring resolutely at some point at the opposite wall, feeling hopelessly lost by the day's events.

"Hey, kid."

Ezra didn't acknowledge him, just curled up more tightly. He felt the tension build inside him, coiled like a spring, ready to snap if pushed.

The Lasat rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"I just wanted to say… You did good out there, kid."

Ezra's eyes snapped upwards, anguish in his gaze.

"Did I? 'Cause I thought so a few hours ago, but I'm not so sure anymore."

Zeb shuffled in place, looking perplexed.

"What do you mean? What happened?"

Ezra shook his head.

"Nothing. I just… what happened out there, I didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean to _push_ Kallus."

The Lasat snorted indelicately.

"What, you didn't mean to save me? Disappointed that the Agent didn't finish me off?"

"No! I wanted to help you. But I didn't mean to push him. I just reached and then he was moving. That was _all_ it took."

"Are you worried that you'll maybe get upset with someone else and they'll end up a smear on the wall? 'Cause that's what the training's for. That's why Kanan is taking you for an apprentice, so you can control it."

"I know that, but Zeb, it happened so fast! I was scared and desperate and then Kallus was flying through the air. I could have killed him."

The Lasat growled softly.

"Maybe you should have."

Ezra shook his head vehemently. The words came tumbling out of him, old memories pushing to the forefront of his mind.

"I've seen things, on the streets. I've met bad people and I know what happens when you give people power. They abuse it, every time. No one's infallible, no one's innocent. You give someone a leg up and they'll crawl over everyone else to stay on top."

"Wait a second, I thought we were talking about you and your Jedi stuff."

"We are!"

"Well, I don't see the problem. Kanan will train you and you'll be able to use it right, no more mistakes."

Ezra looked down, feeling miserable.

"Have you talked to Kanan about this?"

"I doubt Kanan would understand. I don't think he's ever had a reason to doubt what he was doing was right."

The Lasat sighed.

"You'd be surprised, kid. But I know what you mean."

He cocked his head, looking at the boy thoughtfully.

"You know, Kanan is chock full of high and mighty ideals about how a Jedi should be. He's got good reasons for wanting to do things the _right_ way. So he might be a bit blind to what exactly he's asking you to commit to. You aren't like the Jedi of old, and I don't think that's a bad thing. The Jedi were noble and brave and did a world of good for this galaxy. But in the end, they died and the Old Religion died with them. Things have changed, no matter what Kanan wants to believe. I'm not saying that what they stood for isn't worth fighting for, but if you've got to be the street rat that survived seven years on his own in order to keep yourself alive, then do it. Don't worry about being right every time, 'cause you won't be."

"But Zeb, it's not just on me if I mess up. These… powers, they're bigger than I am. What if I screw up big time? What if I hurt someone?"

"We all have the ability to do bad things. Some of us are better at that than others. But what you got to remember is that it isn't about us and what we want. It's what we can do for everyone else. If you mess up, you keep on moving and do better next time. You remember that and you'll be alright, kid."

The Lasat looked uncomfortable at having spoken so much, but clearly saw that Ezra needed further convincing.

"Look, while I don't know the first thing about Force powers or any of that mumbo jumbo, I do know Kanan and he will do all he can to turn you into the best Jedi you can be. I don't think he'll let you develop into some power-hungry maniac. And from what I've seen, you've been caught on the wrong side of things enough that you would never abuse your power that way."

Ezra almost recoiled at that before he recovered, hands twitching, instinctually feeling the need to flee or lash out and defend himself from the memories that were assaulting him. Though he could tell Zeb's words were kindly meant, they were far closer to home than was comfortable. _Just breathe_ , he told himself. _It's in the past. It can't hurt you._

Needing to gain some semblance of control, Ezra quirked an eyebrow and smiled shakily at the older man.

"Wow, Zeb. You were almost eloquent."

Looking grateful for the exit Ezra offered him, the Lasat growled softly, but it was all bark and no bite. Still, any return to the comfort of old habits was a relief to both of them.

"Watch yourself. I might be grateful for the save today, but my goodwill only goes so far."

He moved for the door, hesitating at the threshold.

"You know, kid, when you're not trying to act smart, you're alright."

The boy scoffed.

"You're okay yourself, when you're not being a complete jerk."

As he went through the doorway, Zeb's parting shot and favored epithet echoed back at him.

"Ungrateful Lothrat."

Despite himself, Ezra smiled.

* * *

A more upbeat chapter next time! As always, leave a review and let me know what you think. A big thank you to everyone who reviewed last time. Also, as of when I am writing this (October 13), a big storm is expected to hit the Pacific Northwest. While my town is pretty safe, a lot of the coast will be hit pretty hard. To everyone affected by the storm, stay safe this weekend! Thanks so much for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

He found that he enjoyed kitchen duty. Although most of the meals were simple affairs, ration bars with hot mugs of tea or caf, the crew liked to have a cooked meal at dinner together. Ezra was usually paired with Hera as Kanan and Sabine were frankly incompetent chefs and Zeb, who still had little tolerance for the boy, did not do well with another cook in the kitchen.

It still felt wrong to go into the food storage unit, and see it full of provisions. He had to make a conscious decision to not fill his pockets, or hoard ration bars in his backpack (he had no wish to discover their reaction if they caught him reverting to his old habits).

Instead, he reassured himself each day that food was coming, that Hera, a sucker for hard luck cases, wouldn't let any of the others cut him off, that if he really needed he could leave whenever he wanted.

Hera was a good cook. In possession of an unusual talent for making their meager supplies last, she would make something out of nothing, putting together wholesome meals with the sparse ingredients available. And on the few good weeks when they were flush with fresh produce paid with whatever job they had pulled, they would feast on Twi'lek dishes, recipes that Ezra had learned were passed down from generation to generation.

Still on a mission to make up for his less than ideal diet on the streets, she was always finding excuses for him to taste test dishes, or to eat leftovers so they wouldn't go to waste. While he had felt wary at first of taking more than his share, she had made it very difficult for him to say no without appearing rude. After a while, he grew used to it and usually went along with whatever she commanded, as it was generally easier that way.

He found her company very relaxing, as she put him at ease in a way that the others didn't. Zeb brought out the worst in him, Sabine still terrified and intrigued him, and Kanan seemed to have an unnerving ability to see right through him.

She would hum strange melodies as she stirred soup or rolled dough, sometimes softly saying a foreign language under her breath. He had learned early on that she would stop if he asked about it, and so he kept silent, taking in the soothing sound of her voice.

He knew by know that she loved Ryloth and her culture, but some cloud seemed to hang over her whenever it was mentioned. It stirred an old anger in her, one that she would not talk about. That was no problem for him; he certainly had his own share of things he'd rather not discuss and he wasn't sure how he would handle it if the kind young woman ever did decide to let him in on her past.

"That's it, just a bit more water. And start the heat on the third burner."

He hastened to obey, tipping some water into his mixture and turning a knob on the small stove. Wiping his hands on his ratty apron, he turned to the Twi'lek.

"What now?"

She smiled wickedly at him.

"Now you get to see why I made you find that meiloorun yesterday."

After washing the fruit and wiping it clean, she began to expertly cut it into small pieces. He observed her skill with admiration, watching her quick hands at work.

"Did you ever cook with your family?"

Ezra froze, not anticipating such a direct question after days of her carefully tiptoeing around the subject of his parents. He shrugged his shoulders, calming the alarming staccato beat of his heart.

"Yeah, a little bit, I guess."

She paused, considering him with her large, green eyes. There was a world of sadness in her gaze, like an old wound that still ached.

"Sometimes… sometimes it's alright to remember the good things about our past, even if it didn't end so well. It's okay to treasure those memories and hold them close without keeping the bad ones too."

He looked down, and eventually nodded his grudging assent, not trusting his voice at that moment. There was a strained silence in the kitchen as they both recalled the ghosts of their pasts. After long moments, Hera cleared her throat loudly.

"Pass me that bowl."

* * *

Dinner that night was better than usual. Hera had made one of her staple soups, along with handmade flat bread and a salad made of fresh Lothal produce. While delicious, everyone agreed the best part was dessert.

Hera had wrapped the meiloorun slices in a thin pie dough and had baked them into five tiny little tarts, one for each of the crew. After they had emptied their plates (and Ezra had eaten three bowls of soup), she brought out the tasty little creations and the crew eyed them appreciatively.

"In appreciation for your efforts yesterday," she said, giving Zeb and Ezra a wry smile (though she had given them a good dressing down the day before).

The two of them looked at each other conspiratorially, thinking of all the things that occurred yesterday _including_ what they had really done with that TIE fighter. Sabine politely accepted her tart, and nibbled away at it delicately. Kanan, for his part, nodded his thanks to Hera, looking less than amused at Zeb and Ezra's obvious lack of remorse for the previous day's antics.

Avoiding that reproachful gaze, Ezra took a bite of his tart. It was both sweet and sour, and utterly unfamiliar. Regardless, he couldn't help but remember previous meals with a very different group of individuals: his mother's high laugher ringing through the air, hands fingering their way through his hair, a warm voice asking him what he had done at school that day.

For once, he didn't immediately shy away from the memory, instead letting a small smile steal across his features. While he had been lost in thought, Zeb had said something humorous or unintelligent ( _or perhaps both_ , he thought with a smirk), and Sabine released a snorting laugh. Even the impassable Kanan was grinning as the crew finished off their dessert while the Lasat recalled a humorous anecdote from before Ezra's time on the Ghost.

Not finding the words to be particularly important, Ezra didn't attempt to follow the story. Instead, he simply basked in the warm glow of the crew's contentment, even as they talked late into the night.

* * *

While I am by no means a talented cook, family recipes are very special to me. Some of my best memories are of spending Thanksgiving with my enormous extended family. Also, I know that the Ghost is in space (duh), and so they don't really have night per say, but I'm just rolling with them using Lothal time (since they seem to be there half the time anyway) and the crew setting their schedule accordingly. On a more serious note, while it's been pretty windy where I am, the storm hasn't affected us too much (though I did experience some alarm this weekend when I went out of town to celebrate a friend's birthday and was informed by a police patrol that an inmate on a work crew had escaped from a nearby prison. It felt like the beginning of a bad movie: a group of friends stay at their isolated country home during inclement weather, not knowing a prison convict is on the loose nearby. We survived). Thanks so much for reading and please let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes he snuck out at night just to prove that he could still leave whenever he wanted.

He would prowl the streets, watching increased Imperial patrols, avoiding old acquaintances, and breathing in the stink of poorly filtered factory pollution, unwashed bodies and spice.

It was home, messy and harsh but reassuringly familiar.

Seeing the streets of Lothal in all their sordid, unkept glory had really driven home how starkly different life on the ship was. Ezra had noticed that they were pretty careful about what they let on board the Ghost, especially regarding the younger members. No alcohol, no smoking, and absolutely never ever any spice. No swearing seemed to apply exclusively to him (Hera had strongly urged him to reconsider his present course of action after he had let loose at Chopper about a week ago).

It irked him that they seemed to think if they didn't say anything he would remain an innocent kid in their minds. He often felt like he was acting out a pretty story where the street kid could come on board and pretend that the last seven years didn't happen. Especially around Hera, he felt obliged to play along, not revealing his intimate knowledge with all the vices of the streets. Boy, could he make heads roll with some of the stuff he had seen.

Even after he felt secure in his ability to move as he pleased, he would still slip away to any number of his hidey-holes, either on or off the Ghost, if he felt the need to avoid prying eyes or unwanted judgment. Despite his newfound crew, he still felt very much like a solo operation and often needed time to himself, to think and unwind, if nothing else.

* * *

He was in the air vents. Working with Zeb could be a nightmare, as he felt compelled to supply snappy comments to keep the Lasat at bay when all he wanted to do was hide in a corner where no one cared what he said or did. Exhausted from maintaining a defensive front, he had fled to the one place he knew the others could not follow.

He wasn't sure why he felt the need to respond combatively to the Lasat. Every exchange was a battle of wills and smart comebacks, an escalating conflict which he didn't know how to defuse. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure he wanted to. Although he had a better relationship with most of the other crew members, it was still very difficult to not act defensively to every perceived offense and rebuke.

It was far easier to assume that they were judging him and automatically dismiss their words than it was to sort the fallout of the realization that they might genuinely care.

They had been good to him, he couldn't deny that. Despite his belligerent attitude, they had all made efforts to make him a part of the crew. As the days slipped by, he allowed himself to become accustomed to their ways and methods. Maybe this would work out. Maybe he would stay.

There was still a significant part of him that whispered doubts in his ear, especially at night, when his mind found fault with even the happiest of memories.. Everything fell apart, everyone was flawed, and nothing stayed good for long. If the crew didn't tire of him and he actually stayed long enough to become attached, _well_ …

He honestly didn't know what was worse. They were actively defying the _Empire._ That would eventually catch up with them and he didn't know if he could survive losing anyone else.

Ezra knew he should leave now, before he got in too deep. That would be the smart decision, the one that he would never have hesitated to make before, except…

Except he was happy here. And he wanted to stay.

It was a terrifying realization that in such a short time he had become so accustomed, no, so dependent on seeing the crew each morning, talking with them, eating with them, training with Kanan.

Realizing that the others might be wondering what had become of him and not wanting any of them discovering his little hidey-hole, he sighed, running a hand through his hair, and then began to shimmy forward toward the vent cover. After carefully removing it, he slid out and landed lightly on the floor, barely making a sound. He replaced the cover and headed toward the hallway, stopping at the sound of soft voices. _Hera and Kanan_ , he thought.

"Hera, have you seen Ezra?"

"He was working with Zeb in the engine room about a half hour ago, but they both were running each other ragged, so I let them off for the afternoon."

"Hm."

Ezra cringed, seeing the older man's reproving expression in his mind's eye.

"Kanan?"

Hera's voice was subdued and a bit hopeful, and Ezra found himself leaning forward.

"Yeah?"

"Ezra… he's a good kid. A bit rough around the edges, but a really good kid."

Kanan's response was so softly spoken he had to strain his ears to catch it.

"Yeah, he is that."

 _What?_ From Kanan, that was unexpected. Shaking his head, he shoved the thought to the back of his mind. He found himself doing that a lot lately, not wanting to examine the things in his life that just didn't add up.

"I need to send a comm. Good luck finding him."

"Thanks," came the wry reply, the warm voice back to its usual blend of weary exasperation and amusement.

After waiting until Hera's footsteps carried her out of the hallway toward the cockpit, he stepped around the corner, causing Kanan to turn to face him, his calm expression belying the fact that he had complimented Ezra only moments before.

"Where have you been?"

Ezra shrugged noncommittally.

"About."

He could tell his master was underwhelmed by that response as he received Kanan's signature eye brow raise for his trouble. There was something oddly reassuring about the now-familiar expression.

"Really? Too busy to get some training in?"

Suppressing a smile, Ezra shook his head. Kanan gave him one last look, then turned and walked off.

"Well, come on then."

Ezra followed him, having to walk quickly to match Kanan's long strides. He'd stay, for now.

* * *

Thanks so much for reading! Leave a review and you'll make my day!


	5. Chapter 5

In the end, it was Sabine who helped him learn to read. Given a datapad with a list of duties written in Aurabesh, he panicked, recognizing very few of the words on there. He had received very little schooling before his time on the streets and was thoroughly intimidated by the long strings of characters in front of him.

Eventually, he had made his way to her cabin, running his hand through his hair and burning crimson with embarrassment as he explained his situation with a half-hearted mumble.

Sabine had been the right choice. When she had realized the extent of his illiteracy, she had shaken her head, a determined look coming over her features.

"This simply won't do."

While it had been agonizing to reveal this glaring weakness, he appreciated that she never looked at him with anything remotely approaching pity, as he feared Hera might have done. He supposed he could have asked Kanan, but he still feared trying the older man's patience more than was necessary. As for Zeb, well… there was no way in hell he was letting the derisive Lasat know that he couldn't even read a simple children's book.

They had begun meeting by Ezra and Zeb's hidden TIE fighter (which they all agreed that Hera and Kanan never _,_ ever needed to know about), Sabine first helping him to relearn the alphabet, and then put letters together to form words. It was hard, grueling work, but the Mandolorian was a patient, if strict teacher.

* * *

"Spell it for me."

"It's too big."

She raised an eyebrow, looking thoroughly skeptical. Ezra often felt that he was several maneuvers behind her most of time, as she seemed to inhabit that plain of existence reserved for a select group of females who perceive certain truths not readily apparent to common mortals such as himself.

"The Basic language has a limited number of characters, all of which you are now familiar with. This happens to be a phonetic word, so _sound_ it out in your head and tell me how you spell it."

He blushed, and then obeyed.

His mother used to do this with him.

They would sit together by the window, Ezra practicing his letters and Mira recovering from a long day at work by drinking strong, hot tea as they both awaited his father's arrival. It had been his favorite part of the day, a quiet stretch of time stolen from the rush and tumble of everyday life. _Aurek, aurek, aurek_. He would carefully copy out one line of letters for each character in the alphabet, and every time he finished a row his mother would lean down from her rocking chair to give him a piece of candied fruit, the kind that Ephraim claimed would rot his teeth and spoil his appetite.

 _Shh_ , she would whisper with a devious smile and a twinkle in her eyes, _don't tell your father_.

Mira had seemed to walk with an eternal spring in her step, defying gravity and the conventions of reality with her boundless energy. It was only towards the end that she had become more subdued, weighed down by increased hours at work, secretive late night meetings, and the whispered horrors of Imperial injustice.

How strange it was, to be both aware and unaware of the creeping advance of inevitability. Such blind arrogance it had been to assume that those good times would last, that they could keep their perfect little unit of three together without losing either their integrity or their lives. Upon reflection, the outcome of that little tragedy seemed painfully obvious and as always he couldn't help but wonder with increasing consternation _what had they been thinking_ -

And what was he thinking in staying here?

This was different, though. None of the crew were parents gambling with their children's futures.

He diligently continued on to the next word. He was long past needing a sweet for incentive.

Glancing at the fierce Mandolorian who sat in harsh contrast to his absent mother, he watched as Sabine stretched lazily, glaring at the distant horizon as if it had committed some grievous offense.

Ezra had not failed to notice that the past few days she had seemed to nearly vibrate with pent up energy, an almost crazed gleam entering her eyes. She would never admit it, but he could tell she was bored out of her mind. The crew was between ops, and Sabine had already painted almost every available space in the Ghost, at least where Hera would let her touch her beloved ship.

He took a deep breath, and then casually spoke.

"You know what this TIE could use?"

Sabine looked at him with hard eyes, waiting for him to finish his thought.

"A new paint job."

Her vicious smile, though not directed at him, was both captivating and unsettling.

"I know just the thing."

* * *

They were back on Lothal for a supply run. Kanan had pulled a muscle in his leg during the previous mission, Zeb, in a mysteriously foul mood, had locked himself in his cabin, and Hera, who had pulled a nearly thirty six hour shift, was still passed out on her bunk. As such, it fell to the two youngest members of the crew to run errands together.

Despite Kanan's hesitation to let them go on their own, everything went smoothly. Sabine took the lead and Ezra followed her, only offering input if he thought that it was absolutely necessary. For her part, the Mandolorian recognized his experience and accepted most of his advice on which vendors to trust and what prices to negotiate, though she seemed less willing to trust some of his seedier associates.

As they bought the last item on their list, Ezra struggled to balance all of their supplies, and Sabine relieved him of several of the hefty parcels.

"It's times like these that I miss Zeb," he quipped with a wry smile. She snorted loudly in agreement.

"Hera wants me to meet with one of our contacts. They don't know you, and I don't want to spook them, so I need you to go back to the Ghost on your own. Can you handle that?"

Ezra grinned, blowing back a stray lock of hair out of his eyes.

"Don't worry about it. I know these streets like the back of my hand. I'll be fine."

She eyed him suspiciously, seemingly doubtful of his ability to make decisions without her.

"Try to stay out of trouble."

He nodded respectfully.

A noisy group of adolescent humans led by a male Twi'lek walked behind them. As Sabine hurried ahead, Ezra happened to overhear several very interesting remarks made by the Twi'lek regarding the young Mandolorian. He inwardly cringed as he saw her walking briskly away the crowd, far out of hearing range of the youths behind him. The Twi'lek laughed, and whispered another unsavory comment to his companions. While he would usually ignore such things, his words were so outrageous that Ezra found himself turning to confront the group while placing his parcels on the ground near his feet.

"Excuse me?"

The Twi'lek grinned cockily.

"You heard what I called that Mando schutta."

Ezra frowned, examining the confident youth who stood surrounded by his leering companions and taking note of the Imperial patrol a ways down the street. He did not crave confrontations or power plays, preferring to work in the shadows, but it was _Sabine_. With a half-hearted sigh, he spoke softly to himself.

"So much for staying out of trouble."

* * *

He came home with a split lip, a bloody nose and an idiotic grin plastered on his face.

Usually, Ezra exacted his revenge through less direct means, but today he had wanted the satisfaction of pounding that sleemo himself. While still a lightweight, Ezra was all lean muscle and the years spent on the street made him as slippery and fierce as a feral Lothcat.

He had leapt forward, driving the still grinning Twi'lek to the ground and pounding at his face, before pushing his head into the mud and twisting his arm cruelly, eliciting a pathetic squeal from the boy.

Of course, by this time his opponent's friends had recovered from their shock. They dragged Ezra off the nearly weeping boy, throwing him to the ground. He came up swinging, and gave a few solid punches that made his knuckles sting before two of them managed to pin his arms, holding him in place as a third drew his arm back before driving his fist into Ezra's face. He had only received a few blows before the youths scattered at the sound of the Imperial patrol coming down on them, and the gang of boys hurried off to disappear into the shadows. Ezra had snatched up the supplies, which were a bit muddy but otherwise no worse for wear, and took off into the crowd.

After taking a roundabout route around the city, he eventually made his way back to the Ghost. He failed to sneak past Hera and Kanan, who were playing a game of dejarik in the common room.

The Twi'lek mothered him, alternately scolding his foolishness and offering words of sympathy as she inspected the damage. She clucked with concern, leaving to go find some ice for the swelling. Kanan, long-suffering and weary, delivered a lengthy lecture detailing the Jedi standpoint on revenge. Ezra nodded dutifully at all the right moments, appearing utterly contrite while hearing not a word.

Attracted by the commotion, the reclusive Zeb emerged from his cabin and promptly began to roar with laughter at the sight of Ezra with bloodied tissues hanging out of his nose.

"I hope you gave them hell, kid."

Chopper, who until that moment had been humorously reenacting his approximation of Ezra's fight, let off a chortling hoot that expressed just how likely he thought that was.

"I'm glad you find this so amusing, Zeb," sighed Kanan, accepting defeat as he retreated to go meditate and perhaps rediscover the remains of his tattered and frayed patience. Sensing the show was over, the Lasat followed him, muttering good-naturedly about jumped-up Lothrats choosing their battles more wisely.

Ezra felt his grin return as his they left.

By this time, Sabine had returned from her meeting and stood leaning in the doorway of the common area with her arms crossed as she dispassionately observed his injuries. Her brow furrowed as she took in his strangely favorable mood.

"I can see your ability to follow directions has not improved."

Her dry tone, usually so cutting, had little effect on his high spirits.

"What are you smiling about?"

He shrugged, unsure how she would react to the idea of him defending her honor, as capable and competent as she was. Still, taking a few punches was a small price to pay for all that she had done for him since he came on board and it was quite satisfying to contribute something to their friendship besides nervous conversation or poor pick up lines, even if she would never know what he had done.

She frowned, perhaps wondering at his mental stability, and then left in the direction of her cabin.

Chopper swiveled his head to watch her leave, then turned to Ezra with an obnoxious whistle.

"What are you looking at, rust bucket?" he said with a glower, though there was no real anger in the action. The astromech sidled up to him, perhaps hoping to catch him with his shock prod. It hastily scooted back when Ezra hissed viciously at the old droid, and it rolled out of the common area with a mocking cackle.

Sighing, Ezra leaned back against the booth, resuming his smile despite the pain.

Kanan's Jedi teachings be damned. He regretted nothing.

* * *

A bit of a wait, sorry about that. College applications have a tendency to drain my creative energies. Please leave me a review and let me know what you think. Thanks a million for those who already have!

I believe that Ezra, who was helpless to stop the arrest of the people who mattered most to him, would feel immensely satisfied at having the chance to defend his new found companions, even if it wasn't entirely necessary. Of course, being Ezra, he would never admit that.


End file.
